Contents Priceless
by Mooncombo
Summary: She fully intended to drag him out for cocktails at the very least even if they were never going to make it for dinner. She hadn't taken into consideration that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of her before they ever made it out the door.


**Disclaimer: Not mine...**

**Warning: Total smut with a hints at a plot if looks for it with the Hubble telescope. Just a quick one-shot written in an hour. So y'know, that's my excuse.**

**Rated M**

**Takes place immediately following Royals and Loyals so slight spoilers for that episode.**

* * *

It takes him approximately twenty minutes longer than she expected for him to arrive at her door.

"You are late," she greets him. Confusion knits his brow as he attempts to digest her words. His tongue is no longer connected to the neurons in his brain and most of those neurons are suddenly making their way south. The few - _very few _- that are left to rattle around in his head are occupied by very naughty thoughts. Because really, the black silky dress that Ziva is wearing should be illegal.

"Late?" he mutters since forming a complete sentence seems like a highly impossible task while she has one arm resting above her head against the door frame and her strappy heels are dangling from her other hand and her mouth is doing that slightly smirky thing and that dress is clinging to her body and…

"I knew that you wouldn't be able to leave it alone, Tony."

He has no idea what she is talking about because really, that dress and her hair, which is loose and falling around her shoulders and her eyes …

Her eyes are dancing and sparkling in a way he hasn't seen in a long time and suddenly he realizes that she was waiting for _him_.

"Wait," he says, his eyes narrowing, "how can I be late if we didn't have plans?"

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth to hide the smile threatening to become a grin. Before she finally invites him inside, she leans into his space, presses her palms against his chest and whispers, "I counted on McGee disabling that alarm much more quickly."

* * *

Tony follows closely behind her as she pads barefoot through her apartment to the kitchen, her hips swaying beneath the tight black fabric and her shoes still swinging from her right hand. He's fairly certain that if he so much as blinks, a sharp slap to the back of his head will wake him from this incredible dream.

He half expects expensive red wine and long stemmed crystal glasses to match the spectacular garment she is wearing but instead she grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. Her eye catches his and there is no way he can mistake the challenge in her expression as she pours a liberal shot into each glass. And because he has always been a worthy opponent, he accepts her challenge along with his glass which he raises to clink against hers before swallowing its contents without so much as a grimace.

She pours another round.

He loses his suit jacket and tie.

She fully intended to drag him out for cocktails at the very least even if they were never going to make it for dinner. He would have followed her lead.

She hadn't taken into consideration that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of her before they ever made it out the door. All it took was watching her buckle the delicate leather strap of her shoe around her ankle - first the left foot and then the right - and Tony knew that Ziva wouldn't be wearing that dress for much longer.

He slides his finger tips along the edge of her spine, startling her slightly as she slips the strap of her shoe into its keeper. Pressing back slightly, her ass rests against his groin as she steadies herself with her hands on the edge of the kitchen table in clear invitation. One hand grips her hip while the other tosses her hair aside so that he can kiss the side of her neck. Gritting his teeth, his fingers bite into her hips as she rocks back against him.

He wants to hold her, kiss her, _fuck _her, but more than that he wants to feel her pressed against him for just another moment before he's no longer capable of thinking at all. He reaches around her with one hand for the bottle on the table and pours them each another shot while keeping his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She waits for him to throw back his shot before leaning her head back to rest against his shoulder and doing the same.

This is how it begins, he thinks to himself. Like so many other times and so many other situations. His hot partner and an open invitation. And, of course, a bottle of tequila. The characters are the same and this isn't the first time they've done this.

But it has been a long time. Before Somalia. Before Michael. Before Jeanne.

She rocks back against him and he no longer thinks at all as his hands pull at the slick fabric of her dress, inching it along her thighs and bunching it along her waist.

He spins her around to face him, tasting her as his tongue slips along her lips. She tastes of tequila and spice and she keeps making these whimpering sounds against his mouth and really, he could just push up her dress and take her right there on the kitchen table.

He goes through the motions, his body knows what to do and even though he is succumbing to the haze of tequila, sex and Ziva, he also can not quite block out the nagging tick at the back of his mind. He knows she is ready - a slip of his finger tells him as much - but the ticking in his head is getting louder.

She pours them another shot.

Nimble hands find the buckle of his belt. She cups him with soft smooth fingers and the ticking quiets for a moment when he feels her lips slide over him. The sharp edge of the counter digs into the small of his back as Ziva sucks him hard. He brushes the hair out her eyes and watches her.

The ticking and pulsing is growing louder, ricocheting around his brain to mix with the tequila like a bomb or a live grenade, ready to explode at any moment.

He's rock hard and Ziva's mouth is on his dick and really, she couldn't be any hotter, but all he wants right now is to make love to her rather than fuck her.

"_Stop_," he whispers, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Not like this."

She pulls away sharply and stiffens when he reaches for her.

He pours them each a half a shot because damn, at this rate he's not going to be able to perform even if he wants to.

"This time, we're having dinner," he announces. And pulls out his phone to place the order.

* * *

A few beers and some chicken chow mein later, Ziva is curled against Tony on the couch snoring softly still clad in her black dress. He sips the last of the beer in the bottle before finally getting up and leading her to her bedroom.

She makes no attempt to stop him as his settles on his knees to removes her shoes. She watches him unbuckle the straps while grazing her nails along the back of his neck affectionately. He kisses the inside of her knee before sliding his hands up along her thighs pushing her dress up and slipping his thumb along her clit. She bites her lip and inhales sharply.

He finally takes off her dress.

Following her under the covers of her bed, he sinks himself deeply inside her, pressing her into the mattress. It is slow and sweet and he takes his time.

Hours later, he wakes up to find her sprawled against his side and he realizes this is the first time he has ever stayed the night with her.

* * *

The end.

Thank you for reading.


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